Grand Admiral

Nine years, eight months, and twenty-seven days after the Battle of Yavin...

Or forty-four years, eight months, and twenty-seven days since the Great Resynchronization.

(Four months and twelve days since the insertion).

Having finished reading, Anilex leaned back in his chair and tossed the datapad onto the table before him. He ran a hand through his long hair, sweeping it back. His luxurious mane, stylish mustache, fashionable attire, and mastery of sabacc, combined with his undeniably attractive appearance, could have made him the hero of romantic tales or love stories about noble pirates. Naturally, as the protagonist. But his interests lay elsewhere, far from literary fame.

The lieutenant and de facto informal leader of the Cavil Corsairs gazed at his subordinate with a bored expression.

— Is the information accurate?

— Of course, boss, — the skipper smirked. — We pay our informants enough that they wouldn't dare double-cross us.

— Fair enough, — Anilex yawned lazily. — It's a bit far from our usual hunting grounds.

— But what a haul, — the subordinate's eyes gleamed. — We didn't make much on our last raid. The boys aren't happy...

— I'm not some Zeltron girl to keep everyone satisfied, — Anilex declared. — We're not touching an Imperial convoy.

— Boss, but...! — the skipper tried to protest, but the pirate leader acted as if he hadn't heard. Instead, he began polishing the barrel of his blaster.

— Understood, chief, — the subordinate faltered. — No means no. We'll find another target. If we had an interdictor cruiser, it'd be easier... Instead, we're spending everything on those lowlifes from the Lower Levels and...

The blaster chimed briefly, signaling to the skipper that it was best to shut his mouth. Preferably as quickly as possible.

— Go find another target, — the skipper sighed in resignation. Heading toward the exit hatch, he stopped, slapping his forehead. — Boss, there's an encrypted message for you.

— From whom? — Anilex's interest was piqued. It was unusual—everyone in the gang knew that telemetry exchanges during missions risked being tracked. It was only used in dire circumstances.

— No idea, — the skipper shrugged. — Like I said, it's encrypted.

— Transfer it to my datapad, — Anilex ordered, instantly shaking off his drowsiness. The subordinate nodded and left.

Something had clearly happened.

His personal computer pinged, notifying him of the message's arrival.

The crew might not know the cipher.

Because it was known only to three beings in the galaxy—the three lieutenants of the Cavil Corsairs.

Decrypting the message, Anilex scanned the lines.

— Bridge, — he activated the computer. — Contact our base on Edusa.

— One moment, boss, — the comms officer responded. After a few seconds of silence, he reported:

— I don't know what's going on, boss, but we can't get through the interference. The signal reaches the relay, goes further, but the base isn't picking it up and...

— Set course for Edusa, — Anilex commanded. — Contact nearby ships—we're moving out.

— Yes, boss, but they won't be happy to see us there. It's the lieutenant's base...

— And that idiot slept through an attack! — Anilex roared. — We can't contact the base because the Imps are jamming communications!

— We've got responses from our ships in the sector, — the bridge reported. — Five vessels are ready to depart immediately, two more will join in half an hour. The other thirteen haven't responded yet.

— What about the other two squads, Edusa and Vandayn? — the corsair leader inquired.

— Not a single ship is responding, boss. They just came back from raids, docked at the bases...

And most likely, they were now burning under the green plasma of Imperial turbolasers.

What fools those two "partners" were! He had warned them that the Ubiqtorate didn't just pull out of the sector for no reason! Patrols had appeared, and Star Destroyers and heavy cruisers were flying around like they owned the place!

But no, they sat on their... And now, it seemed, they'd been caught.

All that was left was to see for himself what had happened. If they were lucky and the Imps weren't too numerous, there might be a chance to negotiate an exchange. But if it was that lunatic Shohashi, rumored to have joined the Dominion, then they could kiss two-thirds of the Cavil Corsairs' major ships goodbye. All that would remain were his twenty retrofitted freighters and a couple of Arquitens-class light cruisers he'd acquired a year ago and kept hidden from the pirates.

— Notify everyone you can reach! — Anilex ordered. — It's a day and a half's flight to Edusa, so we'll either arrive when the Imps have doused the flames or get there in time to give the local garrison a thrashing. I told them—move the base out of there! Something's been rotten in Morshdine for the last four months, but no, they didn't listen... Wait, what about our base on Vandayn?

— Sending a query, sir, — the same comms officer replied. He was the only one on duty, after all... — Same thing. No responses, just interference.

— Hutt slime! — Anilex howled. — Everyone we've reached, we're taking to Edusa. Anyone we contact en route, send to Vandayn.

Oh, he'd give those two idiots a beating.

If they were still alive...

Because if Shohashi was there...

Hutt. He needed to figure out who to send for recon to the systems and determine what was what. Even if all his group's major ships responded, it wouldn't help against the "Butcher of Atoan."

Because that was the Imperial way—find a few enemies to incinerate and do it.

***

After Moff Ferrus's hologram concluded its detailed exposition of the action plan, a brief silence followed.

Felix looked at me expectantly...

What did he want to hear?

Especially after he'd already begun acting?

I wouldn't say the plan was bad or brilliant—it was decent enough. Far better than what I knew of other Imperials' plans. Not everyone is a master of intricate strategies (myself included), so expecting a "matryoshka" from a semi-civilian figure... Well, frankly, that's laughable.

— Proceed, since you've started, Moff, — I said. — Are the forces of the Morshdine sector fleet sufficient to successfully complete the operation?

On the other hand, his venture was quite similar to my own. So, I'm partly to blame—I set such examples myself. If it ends in disaster, some responsibility falls on me.

— Yes, Grand Admiral, — he confirmed. — The task is straightforward, and I have all the necessary resources, especially since the Immobilizer 418 has returned to its station.

— Good, — I agreed. — Proceed. Report the results. If necessary, use Captain Aban's group; he's heading to Tangrene from a raid.

— Yes, sir, — the Moff replied. After a brief pause to see if new orders would follow, he disconnected.

Was it worth expressing displeasure over an unauthorized operation against the Cavil Corsairs?

No, definitely not.

If subordinates can't act without leadership, they're poor subordinates. The Moff is responsible for actions within his sector (and, given the absence of other Moffs, for all key Dominion sectors).

In the past, every Moff managed not only planetary affairs but also had authority over the armed forces under their command. I gave Ferrus those forces. He equipped and trained them.

The presence of two pirate bases in his controlled territory, especially in industrial worlds (where industry had been reduced to memories before our intervention), was undoubtedly a failure.

But who among us is without sin? For instance, I have to adjust plans on the fly to stay on schedule or avoid greater complications.

Still, it's worth noting that conducting an independent operation without my direct involvement is a boon for my subordinates in general and Moff Ferrus in particular. Wasn't this what I aimed for by training the regular fleet? Slowly but surely raising their competence, identifying their strengths and advantages? Exactly.

Did I overlook anything in preparing rear services? Unlikely—ship repairs and upgrades are completed on schedule.

But the sector fleets, civilian administration...

Yes, I haven't focused on their training.

First, because I know little about it.

Second, that's Ferrus's responsibility.

Meddling in someone else's "kitchen" without understanding its workings only causes harm. Currently, the civilian administration under the Moff's leadership fully performs its duties. Yes, mistakes were revealed—Felix took the initiative to address them. Will he succeed? Quite likely.

And if not?

Well, then we'll have to do some error correction.

The operation on Axxila and neutralizing the threat from the Cavil Corsairs will allow the Moff to reveal another side of himself, beyond mere administration. This, in turn, will give me insight into whether this man is ready to tackle broader issues and take on more global tasks.

That's why I didn't decide to promote him after forming the Dominion. It's not yet time.

But the current situation is a fitting "exam."

Because I plan to grant Dominion sector Moffs nearly the same authority they had under the Empire—not just civil-political matters in their zones but also combating piracy, smuggling, crime, and establishing security frameworks.

A ruler, like a military commander, shouldn't solve every problem personally—that's what subordinates and executors are for.

Internal affairs are the Moffs' domain. But appointments must continue to be based on merit, not political expediency, favoritism, or whims. That's why I value Moff Ferrus—he doesn't complain about work or shift it entirely onto his subordinates. He works where and when needed. More like him would be ideal, but... Moff is a public role. You can't clone them to solve all the sectors' population issues.

At least, I'm not planning to do that yet. But I'm increasingly leaning toward the idea that I should. Truly worthy and competent administrators are in short supply.

To repel attacks and external threats, I have the regular fleet, army, and Stormtrooper Corps. But there's never time to structure and refine it all. There's always something to do. And breaking a system people have grown accustomed to over decades, especially on the eve of Palpatine's invasion, is wrong. Sacrilegious. "Sabotage," as it was called in my past.

The holoprojector blinked, indicating an incoming call. Directly to me, not through the Chimera's comms section. Few sentients had that privilege.

The question of the caller's identity was quickly resolved by glancing at the comm frequency.

— Captain Inek, — I greeted the agent. His current assignment was to track down the mythical ship Sa Nalaor from the Confederacy of Independent Systems' fleet, supposedly loaded with advanced cybernetic implants, valuables, and credits. At least, that's what it was listed as nearly thirty years ago. — Do you have something to report?

— Yes, Grand Admiral, — the agent's hologram flickered, indicating poor connection quality. — I'm currently ten light-years from the Raxus system. I've traced the most likely lead to the Sa Nalaor.

— Intriguing, — I said. — Details.

— At the Wheel station in the Mid Rim, there was a cybernetics company that dealt in prosthetics sales and installation in the past, — Inek explained. — They ceased their primary operations almost immediately after the ship's disappearance. They also hired space salvagers from a Rodian clan. One of their teams vanished. Simultaneously, one of the company's co-owners, the founder's son, disappeared. He had been prosecuted by the Empire for crimes related to unlicensed production and implantation of cybernetic prosthetics. I gained the trust of the founder's daughter, and she led me to what she claimed was her brother's base on Raxus Prime. For a long time, she tried to shake me off. Before my departure, she used the ship's comm systems.

— Was the message decrypted? — I asked.

— Yes, sir, — the scout confirmed. — "I'm three hundred kilometers south of the base. Got rid of the tail. Base and cargo location undisclosed."

An interesting cipher. But nothing more.

— Do you believe she'll lead you to the Sa Nalaor? — I clarified.

— Sir, I suspect the ship has already been found, — Torin Inek stated. — The disappearance of the founder's brother, his funding of a Rodian search party from company resources, their failure to return, and the sister's clear intent to meet her brother suggest the Rodian team was eliminated as soon as they found the ship and learned of its cargo.

— Have you assessed the base's defensive capabilities? — A valid question, as Raxus Prime is a junkyard planet. Countless obsolete and decommissioned starships could be stripped to create defensive lines. We ourselves sourced parts there for the Colicoid Swarm and Black Pearl. In the past, an Imperial shipyard operated there, using planetary scrap for smelting and material production for Star Destroyer construction. Galen Marek destroyed it in the first part of The Force Unleashed. And besides...

— Sir, as wild as it sounds, there's a Star Destroyer on the planet, — Torin said what I dreaded hearing. My worst fears were confirmed—the ship not only survived its crash but wasn't evacuated or dismantled for parts. Astonishing negligence from scavengers, Imperials, Rebels, and anyone who even suspected a Destroyer had crashed there. — And that's where they're holed up. I tracked the woman using probe droids. The ship is almost fully restored—crudely, of course, but... It has numerous emergency thrusters. I suspect they've been repairing it all this time. They'll likely try to lift it into the stratosphere soon and then leave Raxus Prime for parts unknown.

A labor-intensive but logical way to keep the Sa Nalaor's secret. Transfer the cargo to a Destroyer, restore it, and fly off to live in luxury without financial worries? After all, the holds are packed with valuables...

But if it was so lightly damaged in the crash, why didn't the Empire reclaim it? Why abandon a functional (or "conditionally functional") Star Destroyer on a scavenger planet?

I fear I'll never understand the logic of local sentients.

If a ship can still be used, why abandon it? And if you do, strip it of its most valuable components!

Such astonishing wastefulness... And it prompts certain thoughts...

— Continue surveillance, — I ordered. — A Dominion fleet task force will arrive shortly. I need those sentients, their cargo, their ship, and their resources.

— Understood, Grand Admiral, — Torin said. — Proceeding with the mission.

After the scout's hologram faded, I displayed a holographic map of my forces' disposition across the galaxy. Studying it, I pondered two questions.

First: If the Empire was so careless with a crashed Destroyer in its prime, how likely is it that other crash sites hold something useful? Yes, Kaine promised supplies, but relying on one or two suppliers like the Grand Moff and the Baron, who, despite their words and actions, can't openly assist? Frankly, it's unwise.

Hope for a friend, but don't fail yourself.

And the second question.

The nearest task force to Raxus Prime is under Captain Antonias Stormaer, nicknamed "Abyss."

This man loves trophies.

And I have a nagging suspicion: if sent on this mission, will he bring back half the planet? There's indeed something interesting there.

***

She watched with curiosity as the creature before her lapped up blue milk from the floor.

Like its distant ancestors, it purred obediently, diligently working its tongue to empty the saucer.

— Such a good boy, — the woman praised, leaning forward to ruffle the silky fur on its nape. Leaning back, she felt the tiny medallion, a gift from Thrawn worn under her uniform and shirt, touch her skin again. Burning cold, but... a pleasant cold. One she'd grown accustomed to ignoring. — Want more milk?

— Yes, — the face lifted from the saucer. Drops of bluish-white liquid trickled down its muzzle and fur.

— Naughty flea-ridden sack, — she swatted the disobedient pet, causing it to flinch and bury its face back in the saucer. The milk-covered area of its furry face grew larger. — Did I permit you to speak?

— No, — the "pet" whispered.

— What a foolish creature you are, Counselor Fey'lya, — the clone of Ysanne Isard sighed, shaking her head. — How did you ever rise in politics?

— I'm clever enough, — he muttered.

— Clever enough to disobey my order to behave like a pet for the third time? — the faux Iceheart asked with a smile.

— Your crude brainwashing won't work on me, Isard, — the Bothan spat venomously. — I'm sentient!

— And who led the Fourth Fleet's core into a trap only a complete fool couldn't foresee? — the clone asked with the same caring expression. — You, my "sentient" dear.

— That... That... — this case might warrant study by specialists. A Bothan of such high rank failing to find words was unprecedented. — It was a trap. Some cunning deception and...

— Yes, — Isard agreed, patting the Bothan's head. Unseen to an outsider, he wasn't entirely in this position by choice. A set of collars and restraints chained Fey'lya to the cell floor. To an observer, the thin cuffs and shackles of soft but sturdy fabric, known galaxy-wide as "rancor hide," would go unnoticed. Aptly named, this material was procured for her by an agent back when she worked with Prince-Admiral Krennel. Costly, but it wasn't meant for the Bothan. It was for Krennel himself... A pity he never tested it.

But a timely substitute for the deceased was found.

With a single motion, Isard draped her slender legs, clad in tight red trousers, over the Bothan's back, crossing one over the other, using the New Republic Counselor as a footrest. Had Fey'lya's wrists and arms not been bound to the floor, he might have tried to throw her off, but he had no control over his body.

— You see, dear Counselor, — she said, taking a saucer of pastry from the table and biting into it. Mmm, delicious... — You, the New Republic, face an opponent you can't comprehend or predict. Every time you think you've outsmarted him, he turns the situation to his advantage, and any attempt to counter him leads to another trap.

— Nonsense! — Fey'lya declared.

— Really? — Isard feigned surprise, batting her eyelashes. — Let's reason. You tried to catch him at Rugosa, brought a massive fleet—ended up gifting him all your combat-ready ships. And he wiped out countless pirates, smugglers, and criminal scum. You sent hunter teams after him—he captured more ships. You prepared a fleet against him at Hast's shipyards—he took those too. Then you brought your most capable units to Ciutric IV—same story as before. Defeat, fleet captured... Yet you don't relent—you tried to hold the Oplovis sector—he crushed you there too. And took more ships. Honestly, I'm starting to worry...

— That his martial luck will run out? — Fey'lya asked sarcastically.

Isard bent her knee slightly, pressing her thin heel into the Bothan's back, twisting it for comfort into his soft fur.

— That he'll need a whole planet to house New Republic prisoners, — the Isard clone said with mock regret. She'd grown used to calling herself that. Simple and accurate. She was Isard. By blood, at least. And a clone. — Did you know the Dominion holds enough of your soldiers and fleet specialists to populate a small city in the Core Worlds? By the way, you were one of their bulk suppliers of prisoners.

The Bothan tried to speak, but Isard pressed her other heel into his nape, dunking his face into the saucer. Well, saucer... a bowl, five centimeters deep. Enough for him to bubble with exhaled air.

— You know, Counselor, I have a question, — the clone continued. — What do you value most?

The Bothan bubbled something.

— Can't hear you, fluffball, — Isard admitted. — Repeat.

Counselor Fey'lya bubbled diligently in the bowl.

— Oh, right, — the faux Iceheart lifted her foot from his head, allowing her toy to pull away from his treat, which constituted his diet. — What were you bubbling, my favorite toy?

Ignoring the insult, the Bothan glared at the woman with disdain and disgust.

— Power, — he said.

— How petty, — the clone sighed, daintily covering a feigned yawn with her hand. — But what else to expect from a Bothan?

— You know nothing of my people! — Fey'lya snapped.

— More than you can imagine, — Isard assured him. — You're a race of freeloaders, swindlers, manipulators, conspirators, and sycophants, ready to tear each other's throats for a pat from a stronger, more powerful master.

The Bothan opened his mouth to protest, but with one motion, Isard shoved a pastry into his mouth, smearing the cream across his face.

— Be quiet, — she advised. — And listen.

— Mmph-mmph... — the Bothan struggled to chew the unexpected dessert.

— Restless animal, — Isard sighed, dunking his head back into the bowl. — Much better. Just listen and don't interrupt. And stop bubbling—it's annoying, animal.

She critically inspected her attire in the cell's dim light, ensuring no stains or crumbs marred it, and continued:

— You've already proven your incompetence against a strategist like Thrawn, — she said. — No matter how hard you try, he'll always outplay you. It's almost boring. And it doesn't align with my plans. You see, I didn't come to Krennel for nothing. It was safe to store Lusankya's prisoners here, yes. But that's not the main point. The Prince-Admiral, like you, another animal, failed to see his own worthlessness. He inherited a splendid, self-sufficient state. That suits me for a peaceful retirement. Thrawn slightly disrupted my plans, but no matter. I can adjust. Especially since I no longer need just the Ciutric Hegemony. I want his Dominion.

Hearing no bubbling, the woman moved her foot aside. Hooking the Bothan's ear with her heel, she forced him to rise from the bowl:

— You okay, flea-ridden animal? Not drowned yet?

— No, — the Bothan gritted his teeth.

— Excellent that you acknowledge your status as an animal so low it's a host for parasites, — with that, she dunked him back into the bowl. — I like the Dominion. Most importantly, it's easily defensible. Including against you. I won't even mention the Imperial Remnants—Thrawn has secured suitable resources. A fine fleet, two shipyards, numerous industrial planets. Yes, it'll take work to make it respectable, but I'm no stranger to effort. So, I'm thinking, why not, animal, help me eliminate Thrawn? You'd help yourself too...

The bubbling grew quieter. The little beast must be lapping up the bowl's contents. What an obedient critter.

— Do you know why no one wants to exchange you, animal? — she asked, continuing without waiting for a reply:

— You're used-up material. A major headache. Everyone's fine with you dying here. But I can use you to solve the problem of Thrawn's existence. I'm not vain, so I'll let the New Republic handle it in exchange for leaving me and the Dominion alone. What do you think, animal, fair price?

A brief bubble was her answer.

— Glad you agree, fluffball, — she assured him. — You're a political corpse now, but if you return to the New Republic with valuable information... And say I gave it to you to keep you away from the Dominion... Yes, I think the prospect of closure will make your allies accept my offer. So, Thrawn should have met Grand Moff Kaine by now. From that meeting, Thrawn will gain a super star destroyer, — the Bothan stirred, trying to rise from the bowl. Isard pointed him back to his place. — Here I sit in the palace's luxurious quarters, pondering: what will become of you poor, wretched souls when the Grand Admiral gets his own Executor equivalent? He bathes you in blood every time his regular Star Destroyers meet you in battle. What can you oppose a ship worth an entire fleet of Star Destroyers?

Fey'lya tried to speak again, but only odd bubbling emerged.

— Yes, — she continued, — you might claim you have my Lusankya, but as far as I know, you're keeping it as a final, ultimate weapon. In your view, its time hasn't come. But that's just verbal populism, masking the truth. I wonder, does anyone in the New Republic, besides you and Ackbar, know that Lusankya lacks not only weapons but several internal systems, even main engines? And you can't get them now because, after Thrawn's attack on Kai Fel and the seizure of hundreds of hyperdrives of various classes, types, and purposes, Kuat Drive Yards not only raised their prices but are reluctant to supply equipment for that ship's restoration? Didn't they tell you: "Deal with the Imperials, then get the parts"?

The New Republic Counselor bubbled something in reply. Judging by the frequency, it was likely a curse.

— And yet, — Isard continued, — it's curious that the equipment meant for Lusankya's restoration has already left Kuat.

The Bothan fell silent. Not drowned, just listening intently. He'd heard something new.

— While you scrape credits together for the equipment purchase, the Kuati have sold off their stock, — she went on. — Curious, since they didn't produce the parts—these are old Imperial reserves meant for Executor repairs when they were still in the Imperial Starfleet. Shrewd fellows, I must say. First, they took credits from the Empire for building and producing repair kits and spare parts; now they're selling them a second time...

The Bothan remained silent. What a good little animal, obeying its mistress. Well done. Positive behavior deserves a reward.

The Isard clone leaned down, scratching Fey'lya behind the ear.

— So, back to the main point of our meeting, — she continued. — I want the Dominion. I like what Thrawn's building. It has a certain charm. And you want to escape, don't you?

This time, she allowed the Bothan to lift his head from the saucer.

— Yes, — he said, spitting out blue milk.

— Splendid, — Isard smiled. — It so happens I know where Thrawn will be in the next few weeks. It's tied to his intent to acquire an Executor-class super star destroyer. Oh, don't widen your eyes like that, little animal; you know there are other ships of that class besides Lusankya. So, Thrawn will be there with few ships. I'll give you the exact date he takes the Executor, then help you escape. You'll reach the New Republic, pass on the information, and my demand—leave me and the Dominion alone. No military actions against the Dominion. All caravans and convoys will pass through New Republic territory without inspections, stops, or intercepts. In return, you get the meeting location. First, you'll deliver the proposal to Coruscant. I'll give you an untraceable comlink to contact me. Once you're ready to accept, transfer three billion credits to my designated account, and I'll send the coordinates. You understand you need to hurry—Thrawn won't linger with that ship. Two weeks at most. So, I'll give you a courier droid, very fast—it'll get you to Coruscant in under a day. That's the deal, Counselor. Do you accept?

— My allies are in your custody, — the Bothan stated. — I want them freed.

— No problem, — the clone smirked. — But the droid's single-seat. And only a courier droid avoids patrol checks leaving the planet. There's no room for others. Honestly, I'd advise you to think, Fey'lya, whose fur is closer to your heart—yours or your incompetent comrades who can't fend for themselves and, in tough moments of captivity, are ready to spill their guts to save their hides. How do you think I learned about your petty financial schemes, animal?

The Bothan growled, earning a sharper jab of her heel into his skin.

— Your voice isn't quite right, Fey'lya, — she explained. — I'll ask a simple question. Who flies to Coruscant with the valuable information—you or one of your lackeys? Those who stay will rot here until your government agrees to exchanges.

— I'll go, — the Bothan said quickly.

— Good boy, animal, — Isard smiled, ruffling his nape. — I always knew you'd make a fine pup to please me as I deserve. I'd kiss your furry face, but you're a mess, covered in milk. Ugh, naughty pup. Go on, lick yourself clean, get presentable, — with the grace honed by countless daily physical workouts, she lifted her legs from the living footrest. — I'll go handle pressing matters. Conspiracies are conspiracies, but work waits for no one.

The Bothan muttered lowly as she rose from the chair and headed for the exit. Isard caught a glimpse of him cleaning his face—rubbing it against his hands and chest, licking off droplets. A true animal.

— Don't get bored, pup, — she said in farewell, turning at the door and waving. — I'll be back soon. This time, I'll bring green milk with algae. And it'll definitely be from a female animal, not like this batch.

Before the door closed behind her, the faux Iceheart heard sounds typical of a sentient emptying their stomach.

Chuckling at the foolish animal, she approached the door beside the cell and unlocked it with her palm print.

Inside, she settled into a chair before a large panoramic screen displaying everything happening in Fey'lya's cell. He was still purging his stomach.

— Poor, poor xenos creature, fancying itself a superior sentient, — she shook her head. — Clearly never tasted cheap Tatooine milk. It's almost insulting he believed such nonsense... Did I break my toy, and he trusts my word?

The woman settled comfortably and began compiling holorecordings from hidden cameras in the Counselor's cell. They'd spoken frequently lately... Not to mention Bothans' habit of talking aloud when they think they're alone.

Foolish animals.

Achieving her desired result, Isard copied the files to an infochip, made several backups, took them all, and left the palace catacombs. Much work awaited, and it couldn't be delayed.

***

As the Striker emerged from hyperspace at the designated coordinates, Commodore Dobramu beheld a scene embodying the Imperial Navy's might.

Dozens of capital ships, their polished, streamlined hulls gleaming, hung motionless in the cosmic vacuum. Surrounded by heaps of debris—once parts of their engines—and charred husks, unmistakably the remains of escort frigates.

It felt like they'd been thrown into a colossal furnace.

Deformed, soot-covered, melted, and pierced through by turbolasers...

Indeed!

— This is truly Imperial work, — Dobramu said admiringly, gazing at the wrecked ships. The battlefield was grimly impressive—for every twenty-one bacta tanker, there were about thirty escort Nebulon-B frigates in both variants used by the Rebels.

This convoy was clearly vital to the enemy—sensors detected at least four large debris fields containing parts of Mon Calamari cruisers. Unfortunately, identifying the number of destroyed enemy capital ships was impossible. For one simple reason—the forces Mr. Solusar mentioned had done their job thoroughly.

Enemy starships were obliterated, leaving nothing reusable.

Escort ships were stripped of engines and weapons, hulls breached, reactors gutted, and central spines shattered.

Even if Thrawn were here, Dobramu would love to see how the blue-skinned alien executed his favored tactic of capturing enemy ships. Everything was destroyed—except the ships Akrey was meant to take.

He had doubts about that.

Judging by the damage, the transport commanders had tried to flee. But precise turbolaser fire pierced the thin, unarmored hulls and engine nozzles, scorching corridors and compartments, destroying command bridges, disabling main reactors and life support systems...

It seemed the attackers knew exactly where to strike. They destroyed everything that could identify them: sensors, scanners, data banks. Bridges were demolished to prevent data recovery from central computers, which on civilian ships are located near the bridge.

Life support systems were disabled to ensure surviving crew members died, unable to repair the ships...

As Akrey knew, bacta tankers had auxiliary reactors to preserve reservoirs and their contents. Scanning the damaged ships, the young Imperial noted that no reservoir or hold was harmed.

Mr. Solusar kept his word—he'd handed Akrey immense wealth. Even assuming each ship carried only one or two standard-volume reservoirs, it amounted to a vast quantity of bacta. As Solusar said, enough to supply an entire army for a long time.

— Technical teams, — Akrey activated his comlink. — Prepare to deploy as prize crews to seize the ships and extract the bacta. If any ships can be returned to service quickly, I want to know. Over.

Deactivating the device, he gazed once more at the scene of Imperial military grandeur, shaking his head.

Thrawn could swat Rebels on the nose all he liked, but this—this was real work! Right before his eyes!

This convoy was undoubtedly bound for one of the Rebels' four fleets. Now it would serve the Dominion's soldiers... It could have gone to the Emperor...

No, he didn't think the Emperor could err. Why would he? He's the galaxy's smartest man.

A man, indeed.

And only a man should rule the galaxy.

Akrey would aid him to the best of his ability.

***

Data analysis and precise timing keep one's "hand on the pulse."

No team of analysts can replace someone who knows more than the most qualified experts.

Like a transmigrant.

You can uncover countless "hidden pitfalls" left "off-screen," but it won't change the current situation.

Reviewing operational reports, I was stalling.

Because I had no idea how to react to the sentient before me. More precisely, the female sentient.

But silence couldn't last forever.

Especially since the audio playback had ended, leaving silence.

I needed to say something, seize control of the conversation, and steer it in my desired direction.

But "awkward silence" gave her a chance to "start justifying herself." Judging by her bored gaze, Ahsoka Tano had no intention of doing so.

And she'd been comfortably silent for fifteen minutes since her recorded words, provided by the guards, were played in my quarters.

She hadn't even moved—her composure and nerves were impressive, I'll give her that.

Rukh, despite appearing calm, occasionally toyed with an obsidian dagger. Apparently, this weapon, crafted on a former Trade Federation station from jet-black stone, suited the Death Commando.

Mined in the asteroid field around Lok in the Karthakk system under the clones of Tierce's supervision, I'd examined a few such daggers. I was pleasantly surprised. In my understanding, obsidian was merely volcanic glass—sharp but brittle.

But local obsidian was sharper than vibroblades, didn't dull, and was only slightly less durable than durasteel. Not disposable by any means...

Time to use psychology to the fullest. Especially since, under the ysalamiri's influence, Jedi tricks were nullified. If only I could understand this natural defense mechanism and see if it could be transferred.

I continued reviewing documents, letting the silence morph into something intangible. Without the Force, a Jedi couldn't sense my intentions or emotional state. With the ysalamiri nearby, she couldn't access the Force herself.

This should erode her unshakable confidence in herself, her actions, and their righteousness...

I calmly worked through reports, issuing orders to recipients, realizing that with growing armed forces, it was time to establish a General Staff and Admiralty... Soon, we'd begin building and staffing a military-industrial complex, significantly strengthening the Dominion and enabling planned ground offensives for conquest and subjugation, not just raids.

Half an hour after hearing her own words, the Togruta began to fidget.

I was reviewing Shohashi's report on the completed capture of the Nidjun sector. Occupation and cleansing of systems and planets from pirates and crime were underway. He noted Ventress's suitability for ground command, despite some critiques. She passed expedited commander courses. As expected, her space strategy skills were lacking, but in ground operations, Shohashi saw potential. Exactly as planned.

I had no intention of using her as an acolyte, as before. Her duel with Tano showed she was out of practice. Using Inquisitor Obscuro as an infiltrator was simpler and more effective. He and the Dantooine expedition were aboard the starship, and they'd have roles in the upcoming campaign. Multiple roles.

Ventress's place seemed to be ground operations. She might reclaim or surpass her old skills in the future, but not now. Past merits are fine, but positions are earned through current contributions to the Dominion's defense and growth.

Jedi and other Force-sensitives excel where reaction speed and aggression are needed. Space battles demand more—command talent is innate. It's about processing information and understanding circumstances.

Ground command is simpler. Ventress pilots well, nearly at the level of Dominion ace pilots. Shohashi predicts progress, but not drastic.

Let her focus on ground command. The stormtroopers on Crimson Dawn are accustomed to working with her. She avoids excessive losses among her forces.

There's potential, and that's key.

An hour into the silence, the Togruta grew restless.

I studied data on sectors north of the Dominion, near the galaxy's edge. Traditional borderlands with Wild Space... Unwanted by anyone. But a promising direction for expansion. Minimal resistance, with potential for new markets, revenue, and resources against weak local opposition.

An intriguing prospect, but... it requires reconnaissance at minimum. And archival records on those planets. Hmm... Imperial Intelligence archives? Or another raid on Obroa-skai for a full database? Or a slicer hack?

After two hours, Ahsoka Tano cracked. Psychology is powerful.

— Why not just toss me off your Destroyer and call the matter settled? — she asked.

I lifted my gaze from the monitors and looked at the young woman. How old was she? "Forty-something"? She looked fit. That's life in the future, where "the grass is greener"...

But it puzzled me that I noticed the Togruta's attractiveness at all.

Puzzled... and concerning.

Perhaps the faux Isard's remarks had gotten to me. I had no intention of following them... Probably. There's rational sense in the pseudo-Iceheart's words, but I've no time for "romantic affairs."

— A sensible suggestion, — I agreed. — A decent alternative to the traditional Jedi execution—gunned down by "boys in white armor."

Ahsoka shifted in her seat.

— I thought I'd at least get a shuttle and...

— Then you chose the wrong word, — I noted. — "Toss" implies you'd truly be thrown off the ship. During the Chimera's hyperspace travel.

— Heard no one survives that stunt, — she shrugged.

— Hence why I called it an alternative to traditional Jedi execution, — my clarification seemed to sink in. — Or did you expect something else after admitting your intent to kill me?

— I said I'd do it if you became a threat, — the Togruta stated.

— Need I remind you I'm the Dominion's ruler and Supreme Commander?

— Hard to forget.

— Those roles, combined with the New Republic's stance, automatically make me a threat to them, — I explained. — And not just them, I should add.

— That's not quite what I meant, — Ahsoka looked away.

— Are you having trouble forming coherent thoughts? — I asked. — Perhaps injuries, head trauma?

— Fine, — she said sharply. — Yes, I sensed disturbances in the Force. I think many Jedi felt it—at least those I keep in touch with certainly did. I decided to investigate and used your search for Jedi to understand how much you resemble Imperials. You know, it's not pleasant to live and suddenly see a vision that the future, even a probable one, is foggy, and you can't peer into it. The last time Jedi faced this, we were exterminated.

— Elaborate, — I understood her point, but... If I could "legitimately" glean information from a "local" to use "legitimately" later, why not? It avoids "awkward moments" in the future.

— Jedi can see probable futures, — she said reluctantly. — It's always in motion, so the Order taught not to trust it blindly. We can also sense Force-sensitives, — the Togruta hugged her shoulders. — When we have access to it, of course.

— Then why didn't the Jedi foresee their tragic end? — I asked.

— The dark side clouded our vision, — she said. — And rare glimpses... weren't trusted. That's how it happened. During the Clone Wars, the Order couldn't even partially fulfill its role—we were manipulated by Sith.

— Whom you didn't detect, — I reminded her. — Despite just claiming otherwise.

— Palpatine somehow masked his Force-sensitivity, — she admitted. — And due to his machinations, we never understood what was happening with my former master and...

— Because of Palpatine, or because the Order failed its duties? — I asked.

— There were many reasons, — she said.

— I see, — I caught her hint that she didn't wish to continue. Fair enough, I had other questions. — So, explain where the line lies that I shouldn't cross to avoid becoming your target?

— Sounds like you're ready to pursue purely peaceful policies, — Ahsoka gave a crooked smile.

— Need I remind you that you went to war at fourteen? — I asked. — And your targets weren't just Confederacy battle droids.

— We fought for freedom and democracy, — she said firmly.

— And it led to the Empire's creation, — I finished her thought. — Don't you find that ironic?

— More like a bad omen for the future, — the Togruta said grimly.

— In that case, I'd like to know what truly drives you, — I said. — Why did you come to me?

— My goals haven't changed, — she said firmly. — I'm not opposed to working with you, provided you trust me. But I can't abandon the sentients of the Outer Rim, where lawlessness reigns. I lived among them, and now I see them impoverished, on the brink of being sold in slave markets. You could fix this—crush the crime. Among all Imperial warlords, only you care...

"You're mistaken, dear," I thought.

I don't care about affairs in parts of the galaxy I don't control.

I fought the New Republic only because I couldn't then, and certainly can't now, step off this path. Thrawn, as a phenomenon of this galaxy far, far away, is what you'd call a "vaccination."

It hurts at first, then you realize it was necessary...

If you're to live in a galaxy shaken by crises for decades, you must secure a corner to settle in.

Only a numerous, elite fleet and army can ensure safety, maintaining order and repelling attacks.

The fleet needs material resources, recruits, new ship construction, and old ship maintenance. The army, the same.

Thus, a base is needed. A full cycle of production to ensure economic and industrial independence. We can produce nearly everything except key components—hyperdrives, navicomputers, solar ionization reactors, turbolasers... Ground combat vehicles we can't replace with new ones, only repair old ones...

Hence, the Dominion was born.

And I'll fight for it because it fights for me. I want to live and protect those loyal to me from becoming fodder for extragalactic monstrosities in fifteen years.

That's why I don't care about those who can't contribute to the Dominion's existence and function. Industry—military or civilian—labor reserves, taxes—that's what I need to notice those who wish to join.

— Can you, Lady Tano, transport planets across half the galaxy? — I asked.

— Um... — the girl furrowed her white brows. Were the patterns on her face tattoos or skin markings? — Why ask?

— Because the Dominion's capacity is limited, — I stated. — By the territory we control. We annex sectors willing to join us when it aligns with our interests. Why should I care about those living on the galaxy's fringes for centuries who haven't shown any desire to join us?

— I doubt anyone in the Nidjun sector wanted to join the Dominion, — she said. — Yet you went there.

— The sector is largely uninhabited, — I reminded her. — Pirates seized our transports. A threat to logistics is a threat to the Dominion. We decided to eliminate them after the attack. Survivors will be tried for war crimes and sentenced to hard labor.

— Sending them all to Kessel? — Ahsoka asked, surprised.

— We have many habitable planets, — I reminded her. — Rich in resources, with surfaces suitable for cities for those flocking to the Dominion from across the galaxy. Building cities on planets with nothing but virgin forests... Yes, it's challenging, but achievable. If there's someone to build for. Demand creates supply.

— I think I understand, — the Togruta narrowed her eyes. — You're saying you don't care about others' aspirations unless they serve the Dominion.

— I'm not hinting, — a heavy sigh escaped my lips. — I said it directly. Twice. Now and at our last meeting.

The Togruta fell silent, staring at the floor. Then, lifting her head, she met my gaze:

— Your pragmatism is clear. I won't say I agree with that philosophy...

She hesitated.

— Oh? — I clarified. — I thought you joined me to make me notice the Zann Consortium's crimes. To dismantle a structure oppressing Outer Rim residents. You trained my subordinate, helped her complete a critical mission... You did what I needed so I'd do what you needed. That's pragmatism, Lady Tano. No matter what synonyms you use, it's what you do. Jedi altruism doesn't suit you, no matter how you cling to it for old times' sake.

Pain and anger flickered in the woman's eyes as she looked at me.

But she quickly relented, looking away.

— I don't judge you for it, Lady Tano, — let's add a touch of paternal care to my tone. Why not? — On the contrary, I applaud it.

Tano looked at me skeptically.

— The Jedi Order, Old Republic, Empire... They all fell for the same reason—they tried to control the uncontrollable, — I said. — Too few Jedi to protect the galaxy. Even in their prime, there weren't enough. Their philosophy and methods were lacking. The Old Republic spanned much of the galaxy but abandoned armed forces to defend against internal and external threats. The Empire, with its authoritarianism, overt humanocentrism, foolish bureaucrats, simple mistakes, and leadership's bloated ambitions, collapsed. We're on the brink of Palpatine's second coming, — her eyes widened. Not in surprise... More like her suspicions aligned with my words. — I won't waste resources needed to fight him to battle for the rights of hypothetical Tatooine natives. They offer nothing—Dominion soldiers won't die for others' interests.

— So I wasted my time joining you? — she sighed.

— On the contrary, — I countered. — You've shed the husk of idealism. It's evident in your face as I speak. Now you know about Palpatine. He's near. And he'll soon start a slaughter.

— So that's why you need Jedi, — the Togruta sighed. After a pause, she added:

— And not just Jedi.

— I'll need every resource to oppose Palpatine and the threats that come with and after him, — I stated. — You and other former Jedi are resources. Those who can train others like Jedi, with a protector's philosophy...

— Sounds like the start of a fascinating story, — Tano concluded.

— And you'll hear it if you swear loyalty to me, — I said. — Immediately after, you'll get a ship and head to Hutt Space.

— Why? — Tano tensed.

— As I said, I can't help everyone in need, — the Togruta leaned forward, showing interest. — But I can facilitate the purchase of valuable specialists from slavery. They'll gain freedom, Dominion citizenship, but only if they agree to work for their homeland. I recall an episode in your past where slavers attacked your kin. They couldn't resist, lacking protectors. Simple, peaceful workers. Imagine if your kin worked for the Dominion, even in civilian roles, not military. Producing goods for the populace, paying taxes, earning protection. Any aggression against our citizens, and the guilty face a turbolaser rain. I guarantee it. And few galaxy madmen would dare attack us.

The Togruta was silent for a while.

She stared at the floor, then glanced at my small gym. She even looked back at Rukh.

Only then did she meet my eyes:

— It just hit me that you're recruiting me as your agent, — she said. — Manipulating my desires and fears for your goals... Using my wish to help sentients against me, knowing I can't achieve it alone.

— You'll likely die trying, — I agreed. — Attempting to change what's beyond you.

The Togruta looked down again.

Then met my gaze.

— I agree, — her voice was firm, her eyes steady, hands unshaking. A reasoned, heartfelt decision.

— Glad to hear it, — I said. Touching the comlink's transmitter on my collar, I activated it:

— Captain Pellaeon, is the ship for Lady Tano ready?

— Yes, sir, — came the reply. — Fueled, serviced, and combat-ready.

— Excellent, — I said. — Move it to the storage bay.

— Yes, Grand Admiral, — Pellaeon signed off.

The Togruta looked at me, surprised.

— I thought you'd send me off right now, — she said with a hint of provocation.

— We've discussed that leaving a ship in hyperspace isn't ideal for someone intending to live and serve their new homeland, — I said.

Ahsoka squirmed in her seat.

— I hope the "tossing" issue is settled? — she asked. — And my words... Now that we've cleared things up, I'm not planning to kill you...

— Thanks for that, — I gave a slight smile. — No, you won't be punished for it. At least not as you expect.

— That's a relief, — Ahsoka sighed. — Without the Force or weapons, I feel... — she trailed off.

Her slip seemed to alarm her.

— What do you mean by "as I expect"? — the Togruta asked.

— You'll answer for your words, — I said. — But not with your life.

— I don't like this cryptic tone, — she said.

— Naturally, — I agreed. — You won't like what follows either. But you'll live.

The Togruta let out a heavy sigh.

— Got myself recruited, — she said in a resigned tone. — You won't make me work with Ventress, will you?

In the dimness of my quarters, lit only by monitor glows, with my eyes burning like gates to the abyss, the sly smile on my lips made the Togruta shudder.